


Make my Home Your Home

by j_marquis



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Romance, M/M, Post S2, s2 spoilers, two broken people find each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: Hector came back to the castle, because he had nowhere left to turn.





	Make my Home Your Home

Hector came back to the castle because he didn't know where else to go. Starving and worn and injured, he came to the castle for comfort, for acceptance. Just the way he had before, when Dracula begged for aid. Refusing to believe Dracula was dead, Hector came to the castle. He walked, and he walked, and he walked on until his boots cracked and his feet bled and he wrapped himself in shreds of clothing stained with blood and dirt. He came to the castle dying, sun burnt and filthy, but he could still see the ruins it stood in. He could still stumble up the steps, stagger through the door. It opened for him, just like it always had.

The hall was cold, and dark, and lifeless. Dust drifted in the evening light, gathered on the elaborate banister and Hector could swear he saw the shadows of ghosts and the blood of the battle where it had been scrubbed away. He didn't know how long it had been since that battle. Since Carmilla had pulled him from his mission and his life. Beaten him and violated him and called him her pet, stole his powers and his will and left him with nothing to do but run. Run, and run, until he felt safe. Until he could return to the castle that had once cradled him in it's machines and warm light.

But the light was cold and the machines had gone still. If there was anything still calling the castle it's home, it hid itself away in the inner chambers. Didn't come to the opened door, showed no sign anything was there. Only ghosts and cobwebs, bats roosting in the rafters. Echoes of the life it had once held. If Hector could call anything that had been in the castle life. Call what he had created life. He could scarcely even imagine calling that power to himself once more. Magic seemed so far away.

Hector slept, finally, on the floor of the castle. He didn't dream.

His wounds were dressed, new clothes on the floor where he slept. A blanket over his shoulders, warm food and drink near the clothing. But no sign of another being. Just stillness, and light where the roof had caved in, allowing the sun to seep into the castle in a way it never had before. Allowed for a small family of birds to nest in it's rafters, the leaves of trees to cast shadows across the sunlight. It would have been idyllic, were it not born of wreckage. Were it not made of a place that had been so beautiful in it's darkness.

He wondered where Cezar was. If he had survived the destruction. The undead dog was small, trusting and affectionate, not made for times of war and hatred. It seemed unlikely that he would have survived all of this. All the same, Hector wondered, as he changed and ate, heedless of if he was being watched by his invisible benefactor, if he would find any of his pets surviving in this ruin. The food was warm, and good, but most of all it was a meal, something he hadn't had in far too long, and the liquid was relief on his tongue and throat. The clothes were soft and fine and with new boots, new bandages on his feet, he could ignore the pain. Put it out of his head long enough to find out what still stood in this place.

His forge was battered, wrecked, thrown around. There had been fighting in this sacred place he had once called home. A wall had collapsed, or been broken through, making a path into the room beside, equally ruined. It could be salvaged, his forge and the places where he lived, but it would be hard work, and he still didn't know who remained, who had left him the food and clothing and cleaned his wounds. A part of him didn't want to know. Knowing would tell him who had killed Dracula. Who had so utterly destroyed this place, let the light in.

His cat rubbed her head against his leg and purred contentedly. Dropped a freshly dead mouse at his feet.

"Ah, so my little hunter is still here." He bent to scratch her head, under her chin. "Where are the others? Have you seen Cezar?"

The cat kept purring, rubbing around his legs, nestling her head until Hector picked her up, walked through the wreckage into the rooms beyond. The cat wound around his shoulders, barely looking around. Content to have her master near.

There was a man, asleep in a stairwell. Skinny and golden, long limbs wrapped around himself, pale hair seemed to all but float in the midmorning light. Hector thought he recognized the pale man, but no name came to mind. Was he one of the invaders, Carmilla's troops? No, no those had all been of his creation. His own monsters. This wasn't one of them. This was something else entirely.

_Alucard._ He realized, suddenly. It was his master's son. He had never met the man, only seen paintings. Heard stories. He knew Dracula had a son, had loved him, once, just the same as his human wife. But now, Hector was faced with the truth of Adrian Tepes. Beautiful, ethereal, and, above all things, tragic. Tracks of tears stained his cheeks, he was dirty, bedraggled and still scarred. Long fingers wound around his own arms, he shuddered with his dreaming.

Hector covered him with a blanket and forced himself to move on.


End file.
